


The Warmth

by Ponderess



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Study, Sleepy Cuddles, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderess/pseuds/Ponderess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>If this is a dream it's one of the strangest things Tōru's mind has ever come up with.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Hajime and Tōru go for car ride to dump some baggage in the middle of the night and find that after three years out of touch they're closer than they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like nothing I put in the tags or summary could prepare you for this, unless I want to give everything away in one or two sentences. So I suggest you lean back and enjoy the ride.

Every word he speaks is a lie. There's no sadness or happiness, there's no anger or fear. Empathy is a concept he doesn't know, sympathy is a concept he grasped well enough to fake it. If he's lucky his opposite will confuse the two and consider him to have both. If not, then at least he tried and no one should fault him for that.

Tōru has concluded as much. What others make of it isn't his business. At least he's managed to keep the cynicism bottled up — for the most part, that is. He's aware how alienating that must be for an outsider who hasn't been to the point he's currently at. There was a time he didn't get it himself. You have to experience it first-hand for the pieces to really fit together and form the full picture.

The heater in the car is emitting a stream of warm air to keep the windows from fogging up in this cold night. Tōru is leaned back in his seat and staring out into the dark sky. The bright city lights keep catching his eye as they pass by, but it's not like he's actually taking much in of what he sees. He doesn't really care what's out there. He doesn't really care in general.

In the driver's seat, Hajime shifts up another gear and accelerates as the van in front of them leaves the road. He remained silent since they started driving, even though there's probably a lot he could tell. Like the story of how he got that scar stretching out between his left eyebrow and temple. Tōru only got a glimpse of it earlier, but he wasn't interested enough to ask about it.

"You aren't angry?" Hajime finally breaks the mutual silence.

Tōru doesn't move one bit in his seat before he simply answers: "No."

"Scared?" Hajime tries next, but Tōru denies yet again.

"No."

"Well, what are you feeling then?" Hajime wants to know and there's a hint of impatience in his voice. It's nothing to worry about though. "I'm certainly not going to start wildly guessing until I hopefully hit the mark."

"Then don't."

Tōru still hasn't turned around to show any active participation in the conversation. The streetlights aren't more interesting, but neither is the topic anything he considers worth discussing. It seems strange that Hajime would ask in the first place.

"Come on," Hajime growls from the driver's seat in a tone that is deeper than anything he ever used back in high school. "Tell me."

Still unwilling, Tōru pulls his gaze away from the passing scenery and finally looks at his childhood friend. His face is blank as he asks: "Why would you want to know that anyway?"

Hajime chances Tōru a look before focussing on the street ahead again. His hands tighten around the steering wheel and he stretches out his fingers one after another to release some of the tension.

"This is the first time we met in a few years," he elaborates without actually explaining his reasons, "you can't tell me you don't feel anything — not only because I wasn't leaving you much of a choice in coming for a ride with me."

Tōru considers his answer. Of course he could lie, fake it like he always does. Right now Hajime might not even call him out on it, because it somehow seems like Hajime would be satisfied with any answer as long as he names a feeling. He briefly wonders what happened to the harsh but supportive friend he had in school. Hajime seems collected on the outside, but there's some kind of nervous energy coming from him.

They've been out of touch for the past three years so Hajime doesn't know what Tōru is going through. Neither does Tōru know what drove Hajime to show up on his doorstep in the middle of the night and insist on taking him for a ride out of nowhere. It almost feels like they've become strangers and he isn't all too surprised, because sometimes he doesn't recognise himself these days. But for the sake of old times he decides to speak the truth — and maybe he also wants to know how Hajime will react.

Offering a bright smile that only seems a little cynical given the context, Tōru declares: "I don't feel anything, though."

Hajime shoots him another brief glance. "Did your smile become even more insincere? I didn't think that was possible."

"Apparently," Tōru comments while purposefully keeping up his cheerful expression.

As the silence unfolds again he lets his gaze wander out the front window. He feels a semblance of satisfaction, so his smile is more genuine than it originally was. He notices the how Hajime's eyes fleetingly dart in his direction a few times, but he doesn't consider it worth commenting on.

"Seriously?" Hajime eventually continues their conversation as if they hadn't stopped talking for a couple of minutes. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing at all," Tōru confirms and as far as he's concerned that's the end of it.

Another few quiet minutes pass and he's ready to let them stretch out for the rest of the ride. He likes the atmosphere of it. He likes the night, he likes the car ride, he likes the low hum of the engine and the faint rustling of the heater being the only sounds filling the interior of the car. It doesn't matter where he's being taken. For all he cares they could go on like this forever until he passes out. He's always a little disappointed at the prospect of the night ending.

"What if I told you there was a dead man in the trunk?"

Hajime's words are more than unexpected. They're surreal and can only be a sick joke, though Tōru has no idea where he picked up that kind of humour. However, while someone else might consider it an inappropriate attempt at comedy and would be offended, Tōru laughs at it openly. It's as genuine as Tōru can manage these days — which means he's fooling himself into believing that he's indeed greatly amused — because that timing and the statement by itself are simply hilarious.

"That's a good one," he notes without a hint of sarcasm.

"I'm not kidding," Hajime declares dryly. "There's a dead man in the trunk and I'm the one who killed him."

The smile fades from Tōru's face and he stares at Hajime. The idea is still too absurd for him to grasp — this is Iwaizumi Hajime, his childhood friend, the only one he ever addressed with the -chan moniker with an honest note of affection — but he's going along with it for now.

"Is that why I should be scared?" he wants to know and Hajime gives him another quick glance, but doesn't answer.

Tōru isn't persistent, but for the first time tonight he feels something that resembles actual interest. As he stares out onto the empty road ahead, he inquires: "Where are we going?"

"Out of the city, to bury the body."

"Why did you come for me?"

"Because I didn't want to do it alone."

So Tōru is supposed to become Hajime's partner in crime? Well, they always were like that for each other, just not this literally until now. It actually leaves Tōru thoughtful. Who would've thought they'd end up like this?

"You're really not scared?" Hajime questions again. There might be a hint of worry in his voice — or is it disbelief? Tōru isn't sure.

"Nope," Tōru confirms airily. "Maybe if you showed up some other day I would be, but as for tonight, I don't feel a thing."

Hajime exhales sharply through his teeth and it almost sounds like it's a whistle.

"Gee, what's the matter with you?" The remark is quiet and under his breath, almost as if he's talking to himself.

Driven by his cynicism which he can no longer reign in, Tōru puts on a cheerful expression and faces his friend to make sure it's not going unnoticed. "It's called depression."

Hajime is silent after that. Maybe he doesn't know what to say. People never do. They usually settle for a weak "I'm sorry" as if that would mean anything. Tōru doesn't want their sympathy — not like that.

This time Tōru doesn't keep up the smile for long. It was only meant for that one statement and he saw Hajime's eyes flicker in his direction, so he's sure that Hajime saw. Growing more solemn, he looks out of the front window again.

"I kind of had it coming, don't you think?"

Tōru arrived at this conclusion a while ago, but he never mentioned it to anyone. It seemed too bitter to share with his parents and apart from them he doesn't really talk to people anymore. Back in school he was most honest with Hajime, even though there was still a lot he kept to himself. Having established that kind of relationship once, it feels easy enough to more or less pick up where they left off — even though it's been three years and a lot has happened.

The expected reaction doesn't come. Hajime doesn't reprimand Tōru. He gives a thoughtful humming sound and then notes: "Maybe. I don't know."

Tōru is almost disappointed. It seems like Hajime has gone mellow. Or maybe it's the circumstances. Tōru wouldn't be his usual self either the night he became a murderer and was trying to dispose of the evidence. At least he figures it would affect him if he'd done something like that. At least he figures it was Hajime's first time killing someone.

They pass fewer and fewer houses that are only darkened shapes along their way and eventually the two rows of streetlights lining the road end. Hajime accelerates as they leave the illuminated city behind. Before them stretch out empty fields — or at least that's what Tōru is guessing since the darkness swallows up everything outside the reach of the car's headlights.

The warmth streaming from the heater surrounds them. It feels like they're wrapped inside a bubble and time doesn't exist and no one can break through to them. The night could stretch on endlessly as does the road ahead and it gives Tōru a sense of comfort. He feels calm — peaceful even — ready to be lulled into a dream, because right now he's willingly falling for the illusion that there isn't a single care in the world.

It's so easy. The darkness hides the ugly truths of the day and doesn't threaten with responsibilities. As for the dead man in the trunk, that's just a concept which feels even less real than feelings seem to him right now. Tōru hasn't seen the body — it's only a story to him. It's not that he doesn't believe Hajime, it's just that things he hasn't taken in with his own eyes are a lot harder for him to grasp. The thought that Hajime has taken a life is equally as surreal. Life doesn't seem all too meaningful anyway. What does it matter if someone is alive or not?

"Have you thought about dying?"

Hajime's voice jerks Tōru out of his trance. He has no idea what thought process led Hajime to ask that question, but he doesn't care or have the need to understand. Neither does he feel compelled to lie.

"I thought about it."

This time Hajime keeps his eyes trained on the road. Tōru wonders what's going through his head. What does it do to people when they learn that he's been thinking that he wanted to die, that he does so still at times? To him it's just a fact, another part of his existence. But everyone else seems to be so attached to life, so scared of death. They make such a big deal of it and he really can't see why.

"Did you ever try?" Hajime inquires and his voice is quiet and serious, but calm. It doesn't give a hint of how he might feel about the topic.

Tōru gives a faint shrug. "Couldn't be bothered."

That's it, really. By now he can't tell if he's still scared of dying like everybody else, but he's definitely not motivated to. It seems like a vaguely appealing solution in some moments, but then what would be the point? The truth is: there is none — neither in living nor dying. So he just exists while avoiding having to make an effort.

Changing anything about his situation — even if it was taking his own life with the prospect of never having to bother with anything again — is certainly too much effort. He doesn't hate life, he doesn't hate himself; he just is and there's no meaning to it or any kind of purpose. He takes things as they come and that's that.

Hajime has left the main road which would eventually take them to the next city. He's steering the car along a narrow track towards a forest. Tōru briefly wonders how well he planned out this whole endeavour or if he's just making things up as he goes along. There's no need to ask about it though — Tōru isn't picky or really interested, actually. He figures he'll just go with whatever Hajime decides to do.

Somewhere on the trail along the forest Hajime stops the car and shuts down the engine. Tōru immediately mourns the cutting out of the heater. The prospect of having to get out into the cold is even more regretful. He just wanted for them to keep going, driving through the night in comfortable silence. Who cares about a dead body in the trunk?

Hajime unbuckles his seatbelt, but remains seated for a few heartbeats. Then he takes a deep breath and opens the door, letting in the cold air which brushes away the last bit of comfort the parked car held. Tōru watches as he gets out and walks around to the trunk. He shut the door, but the damage is done and Tōru feels like there's no point in trying to dwell on his fantasy of a never ending car ride through the endless darkness.

With a sigh, Tōru follows Hajime's example and forces himself to step out into the cold night. His breath escapes his lips in a stream of mist and drifts away into nothingness. He tucks his hands deep into his pockets and wishes he hadn't been wearing his jacket throughout the whole ride. The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he makes his way around the car in the scarce lighting of the headlights which Hajime left on so they won't be stuck in complete darkness.

The trunk is already open by the time Tōru joins Hajime's side. He can't make out much in the red glow of the rear lights, but there's definitely a dark immobile shape taking up most of the space. The light which is supposed to illuminate the trunk itself seems to be broken. Staring down, he tries to determine if he has some kind of reaction to the fact that there's a dead man lying in front of him. But somehow seeing it hasn't helped it become realer to him.

Hajime stretches out his arm and holds a lengthy object against Tōru's chest. Upon inspection Tōru recognises it as a shovel. He must've brought it along.

"Help me dig," Hajime instructs and leaves the shovel to Tōru's already clammy bare hands.

Tōru watches as he walks over the gravel of the path they're on and onto the edge of the empty field opposite of the forest. It strikes Tōru as the less logical choice to pick a field that probably belongs to someone and will be ploughed come spring over the ground of a forest where people are less likely to dig anything up. "Are you sure that's a good place? Shouldn't we find a spot beneath the trees where no one pokes around?"

"And break our shovels while trying to dig through condensed layers of solid ground? No thanks!" Hajime declines and sticks his shovel into the earth, using his foot to drive it almost completely in.

Hajime seems to have given some thought to how to go about this at least. Tōru has no reason to argue. He makes his way over to the field and starts helping Hajime unearthing the provisional grave.

They dig in silence. Tōru's sense of time is off, so he can't tell how long they're at it. But his fingers go numb in the cold air and he wishes he'd brought mittens. His glasses slide down his nose a few times and he shoves them back into place with his palm. They aren't very useful in the darkness, but he'd rather not have them give in to gravity and drop into the hole he's standing in. His shoes and jeans are probably getting soiled by earth. He's only guessing, since he can't actually see it, but it seems like a logical consequence.

"That's enough," Hajime eventually declares and throws aside his shovel.

Tōru watches him climb out of the hole which isn't even knee-deep yet. Even if Hajime is just making things up as he goes, it seems obvious to Tōru that they'll have to dig deeper or they might as well leave the body lying around somewhere for anyone to find. "You really think so?"

"Yeah," Hajime responds while shoving his hands into his pockets as if looking for something.

Tōru shrugs and follows Hajime out of the hole. He's not going to object. It's not the man he killed that they're trying to get rid of. If Hajime deems they've done enough digging then he won't be the one to ask for extra work. He drops his shovel next to the other one lying on the ground and watches as Hajime produces a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his jeans. It's too dark to make out the brand.

Cigarette between his lips, Hajime notices Tōru's eyes on him. He takes it out of his mouth with the same hand he's holding the lighter in. The other hand he extends towards Tōru to offer him the opened package. It seems to be at least half full, though it's hard to count in the dark. "You want one?"

"No thanks," Tōru declines without having to consider it. He dislikes the smell of the smoke enough to know he doesn't want to taste it in his mouth.

Hajime shrugs and puts the cigarette back between his lips before shoving the pack into one of his pockets. Cupping his free hand in front of his mouth, he has to flick the lighter a few times before the initial spark turns into an actual flame. He holds it close to the cigarette tip until it starts glowing and emits the first faint billows of smoke. Tōru mostly watches the whole process, because he's got nothing else to do but to stand around.

"I didn't think you'd be the type," Tōru comments as Hajime puts away the lighter.

Hajime exhales a stream of smoke. "We all have our coping mechanisms."

Tōru doesn't ask what he's coping with and why or when he started. But it certainly doesn't look like he just got a package of cigarettes to deal with the shock of killing a man and having to dispose of the dead body.

Hajime takes another few lungs of smoke before he starts walking towards the car. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Sticking to silence for now, Tōru follows in his steps. He feels ready to complain about the work and effort this endeavour is becoming — though he guessed it would turn out to be this much, he mostly overestimated his levels of energy. He's not running on much these days, so the physical exercise is draining. But it doesn't feel appropriate to whine now. He bets Hajime doesn't want to spend his time like this either.

The body is heavy as they carry it across the pathway. But it's wrapped in a blanket of some sorts and Tōru can't make out any blood in the darkness and really, to him it could be anything but a corpse he's dropping into a dug hole on the edge of an empty field. His mind simply doesn't process it.

Hajime retreats to the car while Tōru stares at the lifeless form at his feet. He cannot grasp it, the meaning of a life. This stranger, this man — whoever he was — has people that knew him and cared for him somewhere. That's what Tōru assumes — everyone has, more or less — but it leaves him untouched. There's no empathy or sympathy. He can't even feel bad about it.

By the time Tōru notices that Hajime walked off and looks around to see what he's doing, he's already halfway back. In his hand he's carrying something — a jerrycan from the look of it. Wordlessly, he stops next to Tōru and unscrews the cap. The distinct smell of petroleum meshes with the cold air as he pours the liquid into the hole in the ground, soaking the corpse with it.

"So you gave this whole thing some thought after all," Tōru comments.

Hajime gives a humourless chuckle. "After the initial shock and freak-out, sure I did."

Then, after he closed the jerrycan, put it down at his feet and took another drag from his cigarette, he adds: "It's not like I planned for it to happen, but once the damage was done I had to deal with it somehow."

Tōru nods. He understands as far as these things go. If you find yourself in a mess you've got to work your way through it somehow. In the case of having a dead body at your hands the solution doesn't necessarily include disposing of it in the quiet of the night, but it's what Hajime chose to do and who is Tōru to judge.

"At which point did I come into your plan?" It's only a thought that randomly occurred to Tōru and he says it out loud, because the answer might interest him a bit.

"Once I decided I wasn't going to do this alone."

"You've got no other friends?"

"None like you."

That's funny, actually. All those years they spent with each other that seemed to have meant nothing once they parted ways; and yet here they are back together, dirtying their hands. Tōru can't think of anything sincere to say, so he flashes a smile and declares: "That's me: number one person to bury a body with."

"Burn," Hajime corrects. "We're burning him first."

There's still about half of his cigarette left, but he only pulls on it one more time before he drops it into the hole in the ground. Tōru instinctively takes a step back as the flames start flickering up and spreading along the blanket wrapped around the corpse. Soon the fire engulfs the whole form and the heat it emits isn't unwelcome in the cold night air. In a haze, Tōru watches the flames reach towards the dark sky.

"It was an accident," Hajime says just loud enough for him to hear as they're staring onto the burning body.

Tōru looks over to Hajime. He must have some sense of guilt over what happened or he wouldn't try to cover up the death of this man. He wouldn't have outright admitted to killing this man if he didn't have some fault in the events. Tōru can guess as much, yet it feels like those are just hypothetical theories which have little to do with his reality.

"I don't care, actually," he notes indifferently.

Hajime doesn't look at him. "Maybe one day you will. Besides — I want you to know."

Tōru cannot argue with that — or at least he doesn't want to. He stares back at the fire and eventually its bright light and smoke is starting to make his eyes water. Besides, the smell of what he thinks is burnt flesh is filling the air now. He scrunches his nose.

"You don't have to stick around," Hajime points out. He must've noticed Tōru's disgusted expression at the stench.

Of course Tōru can't go very far, they both know that. But he doesn't have to stand right by the fire which slowly turns the human remains into ash. It's not his burden to bear. He's been as supportive as he could muster. Right now he isn't sure what's going on in Hajime's head and he doesn't dare to ask.

Hesitantly — because it's been awhile since he initiated any kind of significant contact with someone — Tōru rests his hand on Hajime's shoulder. He hopes it conveys some comfort at least. Then he turns away and heads back to the car, leaving Hajime to stare into the flames on his own.

The lights of the car are still illuminating the pathway and Tōru wonders how long it's been since they parked here. Sooner or later the battery is going to run out if the engine isn't on to support it. But he doesn't want to disturb the silence by starting the car. For now the fire at the edge of the field gives off enough light for them to not stumble in complete darkness. He isn't sure if Hajime thought to bring a flashlight. He doesn't bother to check.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Tōru searches for the lever to turn off the lights. He's unfamiliar with this car, but he sat in enough vehicles to have a vague idea what to look for and where. After all, there are at least some similarities between different brands and they all use the same symbols, so he doesn't have to search around much before finding the right mechanism and switching the lights off.

Tōru could stay here in the relative warmth of the car. Even if the heater isn't on, it beats standing around in the cold and shivering. He looks over at the dark shape right in front of the fire. Hajime seems so far away from him despite the path between them not being much wider than the car he's sitting in. If he gets out, only a few steps will take him back to Hajime's side, but in here he can't even hear the fire crackle.

He feels removed from the scenery. It makes everything that happened since they arrived here feel like a vivid dream he's in the process of waking up from. When they were driving through the night together, Hajime was right beside Tōru. He had no doubts about Hajime being real, because Hajime was close enough to touch. Now the late hour and his lack of sleep make him a little lightheaded and everything feels like images his mind is making him see in the dark.

Deciding to put up with the cold, Tōru pushes the car door open and gets out. He leaves the keys in the ignition even if they no longer have to remain there — it wouldn't seem right to take them. He doesn't want to return to the fire where a body is burning and the only thing he can process of it is the stench it produces. Instead he leans against the side of the car's hood where he has a direct view of the scene. Now he can hear the occasional sound of the flames spitting in the air again and he thinks it helps a little to make him feel more grounded.

Hajime appears to have slung his arm around the lower half of his face, resting his hand on his shoulder. The crook of his elbow must be right in front of his mouth and nose, so maybe he's trying to avoid the smell of burnt flesh. Or maybe he has some other reason Tōru cannot guess. For all Tōru knows he could be crying and trying to stifle the sounds coming from his trembling lips with the fabric of his coat. It's a strange mental image and Tōru tries to shake it off.

When Hajime turns his back on the flames, Tōru once again cannot tell how much time passed since the body caught fire. Hajime picks up the shovels and the jerrycan and carries them to the trunk. Tōru cannot get a good look at him as he stashes them away. The flames cast enough light to outline his shape, but from Tōru's position the car is blocking the view.

Tōru wonders what they're going to do now. The fire is burning brightly which means the flames still have something to feed on. They cannot fill up the hole now, because what would be the point of burning the corpse if they don't wait for the fire to die out on its own. But likewise, just leaving things as they are would make their digging efforts obsolete. That would mean they'd have to wait it out to finish their job. How long does it take to burn up a human body?

Hajime shuts the trunk and comes around the rear end of the car. In the dim light Tōru cannot make out his expression as he approaches. Tōru wants to bring up his considerations, but he hesitates. Hajime is getting close, really close. He cups the sides of Tōru's face and presses his lips onto Tōru's mouth and the weight of his body traps Tōru against the hood of the car.

It's been a few years since Tōru last kissed someone. Depression and relationships don't mix well in his experience. Besides, he never found anyone he got really invested in even before he developed a general disinterest in things. But he still remembers the mechanics: try to move your lips in accordance to theirs, do something with your hands, probably. He puts his palms onto the edge of the hood, because Hajime is leaning into him and if he doesn't manage to keep his balance he'll bend over backwards and that would be uncomfortable.

Sometimes Tōru wondered what it would be like to kiss someone without being so aware of the position he's in and thinking about technicalities instead of being overcome by some kind of feeling. Right now he would be surprised if it were any other way. He would be surprised if he didn't ponder the meaning of Hajime kissing him and how them knowing each other since childhood plays into this. He doesn't come up with an answer but he doesn't expect to. It's just his default reaction and by the next day life will go on as usual and this moment won't have any lasting significance.

Hajime pulls away and Tōru isn't even confused about what just transpired. It's almost like this is the natural way of things. Or at least one of those things you don't even think of questioning why they happened or trying to ascribe any particular meaning to. If Tōru had to compare it to something he wouldn't even know what to pick. It just is what it is.

"Did you feel anything?" Hajime asks and Tōru holds his gaze, debating whether to be honest.

"No."

There could be multiple reasons for that and they probably both know it. Hajime, however, doesn't seem to care for any of them, because he moves in for another kiss. Tōru goes along with it, because he doesn't really have an excuse not to — as with everything else he did tonight. Maybe it's another coping mechanism like the cigarette which he can still taste in Hajime's mouth. Maybe Hajime isn't just kissing him because he happens to be here. It might be both or neither. It doesn't really matter.

If this is a dream it's one of the strangest things Tōru's mind has ever come up with. The initial fierceness of the kiss has faded and turned into something softer. Hajime's hands are gentle on his skin, no longer clutching on to him as if he might slip out of their grasp at any moment. In all those years they've been friends, he cannot remember Hajime ever touching him with this much tenderness.

There was always something rough in Hajime's gestures even if they were motivated by genuine consideration — like Hajime's words were harsh when telling him to take care of himself. Now, how much is left of that? Tōru can't tell if it's just in this moment with the crime he committed fresh on Hajime's mind, leaving him more upset and vulnerable than he's willing to openly show, or if the last three years smoothed out some of his edges.

When Hajime releases him, Tōru immediately misses the warmth of Hajime's body. He receives no explanation for why Hajime kissed him and he doesn't feel the need to quiz Hajime about it. The questions are there at the edge of his mind, but they seem of so little relevance. However, maybe he can tease Hajime a little. It might even count as being supportive.

"Did that help?" Tōru asks with some amusement.

Hajime chuckles in response, a short and dry sound in his throat. It's the only thing he offers and hardly qualifies as an answer. Tōru decides to count it as a yes — more or less. He's not sure what's next, but the kissing part seems to be over for now. Hajime is standing quietly in front of the car door, looking undecided. Then he presses his hands against the edge of the car roof. Given his distance to it, he has to lean forward and keep his arms outstretched as he lets his head hang between his shoulders. It looks like he's trying to collect his thoughts.

"What now?" Tōru wants to know.

Hajime raises his head and drums his fingers onto the car roof he stares into the black forest. "Now I have no fucking clue how long it takes for the fire to die down."

They seem to be on the same page with that then. Tōru doesn't need to ask if they'll stick around and wait it out.

"Guess we'll sleep in the car," Hajime concludes and pushes himself away from the vehicle.

Immediately, Tōru makes claims: "I'll take the backseat."

Hajime turns his head in Tōru's direction. The light of the fire doesn't give away much of his expression but it's obvious that he's staring. A small smile sneaks onto Tōru's lips as he's reminded of all their little banters back in their school days.

"Hah!" Hajime exclaims and steps over to the door of the backseat. "Shut up, this isn't first come first serve."

Tōru crosses his arms in front of his chest and slowly follows him. Feeling playful, he adopts the whiny tone he always used when bickering with Hajime and complaining: "So you get to stretch out in the back while I have to curl up in the front seat? That's mean, Iwa-chan."

"No one said that," Hajime points out as he opens the door of the backseat. "We're sharing."

Tōru barely bats an eye. Even when Hajime steps closer and wraps his arm around the back of Tōru's neck there's no visible reaction.

"Also, stop it with the Iwa-chan," Hajime adds. "We've gotten too old for that."

Before Tōru can even think of protesting, Hajime gives him another kiss. So much for that part being over. Their lips feel lazy this time, but there is something in Tōru's lower belly: something stirs — a sensation he never experienced before, faint and odd, yet somehow pleasant and almost exciting. So there's some actual feeling left in him, not only the theory of emotions he once had.

If Hajime asked him for his emotional response again, Tōru wouldn't lie about it. But Hajime breaks away from him without a word and he doesn't bring it up on his own accord. He's not even sure what exactly it is that he felt. As soon as it came up it faded away and now he's already struggling to remember it.

Hajime climbs into the car and scoots all the way over to the other side. Tōru follows him inside and shuts the door. Once Tōru is seated, it occurs to him that the backseat is far less luxurious if you only get half of it. Maybe he should've settled for the front seat after all.

"Are you just going to sit there or are you coming over here?" Hajime prompts him. "It's bound to get cold."

Hajime is leaned back into the corner between the car door and the backrest of the seat on which he put his arm and seems to look at Tōru expectantly. Tōru takes the invitation without further questioning and scrambles over. The narrow space makes it hard to move, but once he's curled up against Hajime it's not all too uncomfortable, despite his feet not fitting onto the seat pad. His head is resting against Hajime's shoulder and he puts his arm over Hajime's lower belly, because it has to go somewhere. Hajime wraps his own arm around Tōru's shoulders as if it's the most natural thing.

As soon as he's settled down, Tōru can feel exhaustion overcoming him. Before he was too distracted to feel it, but now drifting off to sleep seems like a certain possibility. He listens out for Hajime's breathing which goes along with the steady rise and fall of Hajime's chest. Can you dream about falling asleep? Tōru wouldn't know.

But he remembers what it's like to fall asleep with Hajime around. The part about being curled up to Hajime is new, but they did share a bed before, the night Hajime showed up on his doorstep unexpectedly. It was some cold winter evening in their first year of primary school. Tōru's parents were shocked and wanted to call at Hajime's home immediately, but Hajime told them he wouldn't be missed. They still informed his parents, of course, but afterwards they were notably forthcoming, making sure that he had everything he needed.

Tōru himself was relatively little concerned with what was going on. He was just happy to have his friend stay over. Until then they hadn't spent that much time together outside of classes. Tōru had invited Hajime to his house a few times but Hajime rarely accepted and the one time it came up Hajime made it clear that Tōru wasn't allowed to visit him. So having his friend over for a night was very exciting and Tōru had all kinds of ideas for what they could do together and didn't want to go to sleep.

Later Tōru learnt that Hajime had run away from home and it wasn't the last time he did. They never talked much about the problems in Hajime's family, but Tōru's home became his refuge until he moved out for university. Then it was no longer necessary, after all, but Tōru found himself missing it. Falling asleep after Hajime and waking up after Hajime had become this familiar habit for him. Just once, though, Tōru wanted to be the one to wake up first.

Tōru's body is stiff, cramped into space that is too short and slim to fit his form comfortably. Whatever he's lying on, it's too hard and small to be his mattress. As he sits up and blinks he's able to make out the inside of the car in the dim light. The yellow glow of the fire is gone yet it isn't pitch-black either, though he can't determine the reason. He's not even sure how long he was out or if he slept at all. Maybe the scene just shifted — isn't that how it is with dreams sometimes?

Hajime seems to have disappeared and Tōru is disappointed he wasn't able to keep Hajime around for longer. Now it's only him in the car in the middle of nowhere in the greyish faint light. His view is blurring, littered with shapes and forms of multiple colours flickering through the air. He rubs his eyes, almost knocking the glasses from his nose. He forgot he's still wearing them.

Disoriented, Tōru climbs out of the car. His foot gets stuck somewhere and he nearly trips over. Just in time, he holds on to the car door to catch his fall. Once he untangled himself he steps onto the stripe of grass at the edge of the forest. He shuts the door and rubs his eyes again, the colours still dancing in front of his eyes, littering his scarcely lit surroundings with their impressions. Is the key still stuck in the ignition? Then he could use the car to get home. He isn't sure he'd even find his way back, since he didn't pay much attention on the ride here, but if Hajime isn't around then he sees no point in staying.

Preoccupied with his deliberations, Tōru discerns the scratching sounds only with delay. He's surprised that someone — something? — is nearby, but he's also curious. Not worried about the fact that there are charred bones somewhere, just a few steps away, and getting caught in close vicinity of them wouldn't be in his best interest, he walks around the rear end of the car. Right at the edge of the field where he remembers the flames dancing earlier — how long has it been since then? — he can make out a figure. Hajime — though he cannot be sure in the faint light he likes to think that it's Hajime — is shovelling the earth they dug up back into the hole.

Tōru makes his way over, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. It's still freezing and his whole body started trembling about as soon as he got out of the car. Hajime doesn't look up when he approaches though his steps are audible on the gravel. When he stops by the hole in the ground, he ascertains that it's almost filled up.

"I would've helped if you'd woken me," Tōru notes as he watches Hajime hold up another shovel full of earth.

"I didn't want to wake you though."

That's what it always came down to, Tōru thinks, though he never asked Hajime about it. Hajime always made a good effort not to wake him from his dreams, sometimes even sneaking out of the room, so he wake up alone like today. How did Hajime even get out of the car without disturbing him? What good is insomnia if he still sleeps through something like that?

"Why do you always have to let me sleep," Tōru mumbles, mostly to himself.

Hajime pauses, shovel hovering in mid-air. "What was that?"

"Never mind."

There's barely anything left to do and his personal complaints seem irrelevant, so Tōru keeps it to himself. Mostly he's just glad that Hajime didn't disappear on him like he initially thought. He pushes his glasses up his nose, though somehow they still don't seem to sit right. He tries to adjust them again, but that doesn't make it better. They must've gotten deformed a little when he was wearing them while sleeping.

Hajime finishes up and sticks the shovel into the earth. His breathing is heavier from the physical exercise and he wipes his brow with the back of his hand. The dark grey sky is becoming lighter, so that means it must be dawn. Tōru figures he could've realised that sooner, but he was too preoccupied with other things. He's still not even sure he's awake.

When Hajime stops and looks at Tōru, there's a moment of silence in which neither of them moves. Tōru considers saying something like "I thought you had gone and left me here", but now that he thinks about it, simply the idea of it sounds silly. Why would Hajime have left without the car? Why would he have left without Tōru after insisting to bring Tōru along? How did Tōru even get this idea? He bites his lips and looks away, too self-conscious of his own thoughts to remember that Hajime can't read his mind.

Hajime closes the distance between them with a few steps and regains Tōru's attention by touching his cheek with one hand. A light nudge is all it takes to make him look back at Hajime. The gentleness of Hajime's touch is still unfamiliar yet no longer surprising after the last few times. Hajime's gaze wanders to Tōru's mouth and gets caught up there. When he moves in, Tōru is already expecting it and parts his lips willingly.

The kiss starts out tentative, then Hajime grows more demanding, like the first time their mouths met — only that now his need doesn't subside. It's like he wants something from Tōru and Tōru doesn't know what it is or how an empty shell like him could offer anything more than matching the movement of his lips. Last night that seemed like it was enough — it was just the spur of the moment — but now…

Tōru breaks away.

Hajime leans in further to capture Tōru's lips again, but his eyes flicker up and he catches Tōru's gaze. Realising that something is off, he stops his efforts to kiss Tōru and leans back. There's a question in his eyes but he doesn't spell it out — he doesn't have to.

"I've got nothing to give," Tōru declares with a light-heartedness that is unfitting for his statement.

Tōru can't help the bittersweet smile. It's too ironic that Hajime showed up now of all times. Because part of Tōru wants to — he wants to feel something for Hajime, he wants to get invested and be around Hajime and all this committed stuff which sounds so nice in theory. If there was anyone he ever could rely on, it was Hajime. So he thinks he would like to go down that path where the kisses they exchanged actually have a meaning — except that he can't feel a thing.

Hajime furrows his brow and clicks his tongue. "Why would I ever take anything from you?"

Tōru is stunned. That's not the kind of response he expected. Though, what did he expect? Passionate promises that they'd figure things out somehow, that they'd make it work? No, that wouldn't be like Hajime. That's the kind of thing romance films always suggest: love will conquer all, love will solve everything — what nonsense.

But Hajime doesn't indulge in wishful thinking. He tells things as they are, even when Tōru gets caught up in some unreasonable idea — especially if Tōru gets caught up in some unreasonable idea which messes with Tōru's head. This is another of those times then, even though it feels different. Usually, Tōru is more worked up; right now all he has is cynicism. But Hajime doesn't let that slide either.

Tōru lowers his head and smiles at his own foolishness. Once again he got carried away with his assumptions and Hajime had to remind him of reality. Never has Hajime asked him to do anything that he wasn't able or willing to do. But Hajime was always looking out for him and he did his part to be there for Hajime in return, because he wanted to. It was natural — it still is. The fact that they're standing at the site where they buried the man Hajime killed is proof enough. Tōru didn't come along because Hajime left him no other choice — Tōru didn't _need_ another choice.

Hajime nudges Tōru's chin up and makes Tōru look at him. Once again it's gentler than anything Tōru is used to from him since they've known each other. Some of his edges really got smoothed out over the past few years, but that's not a bad thing. He's still here to give Tōru a wakeup call when necessary.

Tōru feels compelled to respond, though he has no idea what to say. Despite the fact that he assumed Hajime wanted something from him, he can no longer recount his reasons for that. Even if he knew how to answer Hajime, it was probably a rhetorical question and Hajime isn't expecting a reply from him.

Hajime quietly studies Tōru's face in the grey light. It's like Hajime is trying to read him and it makes him feel self-conscious. Still he holds Hajime's gaze and waits for whatever might come next. Hajime's hand wanders from his chin to his cheek and pushes back a few strands of his hair.

"Are you scared?" Hajime wants to know.

Tōru isn't sure how Hajime means it, though something tells him this isn't about the dead man they disposed of together and the fact that Hajime is responsible for his death. They weren't talking about that. They're trying to figure out how to continue after tonight once the bubble bursts and reality hits them.

Tōru genuinely laughs at the suggestion, though. "Why would I be scared with you?"

Hajime stares, dumbstruck. Then he snaps his index finger against Tōru's forehead. The sharp pain fades almost as quickly as it flashed up. Tōru still reflexively rubs his forehead where Hajime's finger hit. It's been a while since Hajime last did this. Right now Tōru doesn't even see how he deserved it and he's about to complain.

"Don't get cheesy all of a sudden," Hajime grumbles before Tōru can do more than open his mouth and he shoves Tōru's hand aside. Standing on his toes, he leans in and gives Tōru a kiss right on the spot he flicked with his finger.

Tōru blinks in an instance of surprise at the unexpected gesture of affection. Then it occurs to him that Hajime got it wrong — or Hajime is willingly twisting the facts around. It's one of those two things and he's not letting it stand in either case.

"You're the one who started getting cheesy," Tōru points out.

Hajime wraps his arm around Tōru's neck and leans his head against Tōru's cheek. He's swaying a little which means he's still standing on his toes rather than his whole feet. Tōru can hear the low chuckle in Hajime's throat and feel Hajime's warm breath brush past his ear.

"Shut up, I was just telling the truth," Hajime grumbles, though there's a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Doesn't mean it can't be cheesy."

Hajime pulls away, though he leaves his arm loosely slung around Tōru's neck. He furrows his brow and gives Tōru a scrutinising look. "Except that you're the cheesy one among the two of us."

"I'm not cheesy," Tōru corrects Hajime. Despite being serious, his tone is almost inappropriately carefree. "I'm cynical and mean."

"And self-aware — that's new." Hajime is half teasing, but his raised eyebrows indicate that he's at least a little impressed.

"I had a lot of time to think about myself."

The words come surprisingly easy, even though Tōru doesn't have many fond memories of those times he spent brooding by himself. Depression makes you think too much and it's tiring — especially if you don't like yourself. It can be hard to like yourself when you're depressed.

"Want to tell me about that?" Hajime asks quietly after a brief moment of silence.

"Maybe another time," Tōru says with a small smile and he means it.

The thought of sharing the dark and ugly parts of himself which he keeps buried deep inside was always scary. Hajime has seen glimpses and never rejected him for any of it. Yet there are thoughts he never even shared with Hajime; they're his best kept secrets. It will be hard to reveal them, but right now he doesn't want to go there. For the moment he's had enough of the self-disclosure.

Maybe Hajime feels the same, because he doesn't press the topic. Or he just remembers when not to push Tōru. Certain things shouldn't be discussed until you're ready to talk about them. It's an unspoken rule they always stuck to and they applied it to Hajime's family situation and Tōru's issues with self-worth.

Tōru wraps his arms around Hajime's back and rests his chin on Hajime's shoulder. It's the quickest way to make the freezing temperatures somewhat bearable, though it hardly helps with his hands which have gone numb from the cold. He really should've brought mittens.

Hajime doesn't protest against Tōru's sudden need for physical contact nor does he comment on it. It is what it is, Tōru figures, for both of them. Eventually they'll get into the car and drive all the way back and Tōru's hands will be thankful for the warmth emitting out of the heater. Eventually the reality will catch up with them and maybe they'll need more words to sort out what transpired last night. Eventually Tōru's numbness will pass as it always does and he'll gain a new prospect on what being with Hajime means.

For now, though, this is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as me wanting to write Iwaoi and also wondering how someone who is emotionally numb would deal with having to dispose of a dead body? I don't know, it was night time when I began writing this and I don't remember much, but I just went with it from there. Honestly though, this might be the best thing I've written to date, but you tell me what you think of it.


End file.
